Nearly Headless No More
by IAmSwoofie
Summary: Lost in the Forbidden Forest at night, Harry and Ron stumble upon a very unexpected object that makes for one happy ghost and a terrified potions professor. Random 2nd year fic.


A new story! Just a short, hopefully humorous one-shot. The song at the beginning was cut out by J.K Rowling's editor since it was considered a bit too gruesome for a children's book, but I found it online when looking info up and I wanted to put it in. It may seem a tad long, but read through and it goes by quickly. Takes place randomly sometime during 2nd year. I hope you like it! Please review!

*Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore is the leader of the Headless Hunt, a group that rejected Nick because he was not completely headless.

**Disclaimer**: The Harry Potter world and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

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><p><em>It was a mistake any wizard could make<br>Who was tired and caught on the hop  
>One piffling error, and then, to my terror,<br>I found myself facing the chop.  
>Alas for the eve when I met Lady Grieve<br>A-strolling the park in the dusk!  
>She was of the belief I could straighten her teeth<br>Next moment she'd sprouted a tusk.  
>I cried through the night that I'd soon put her right<br>But the process of justice was lax;  
>They'd brought out the block, though they'd mislaid the rock<br>Where they usually sharpened the axe.  
>Next morning at dawn, with a face most forlorn,<br>The priest said to try not to cry,  
>"You can come just like that, no, you won't need a hat,"<br>And I knew that my end must be nigh.  
>The man in the mask who would have the sad task<br>Of cleaving my head from my neck,  
>Said "Nick, if you please, will you get to your knees,"<br>And I turned to a gibbering wreck.  
>"This may sting a bit" said the cack-handed twit<br>As he swung the axe up in the air,  
>But oh the blunt blade! No difference it made,<br>My head was still definitely there.  
>The axeman he hacked and he whacked and he thwacked,<br>"Won't be too long", he assured me,  
>But quick it was not, and the bone-headed clot<br>Took forty-five goes 'til he floored me.  
>And so I was dead, but my faithful old head<br>It never saw fit to desert me,  
>It still lingers on, that's the end of my song,<br>And now, please applaud, or you'll hurt me._

_- J.K. Rowling, The Ballad of Nearly Headless Nick_

The night was unusually cold, chilling to the bone in such a way that one would think they'd never feel anything but the biting numbness. Harry and Ron carefully navigated their way through the Forbidden Forest, huddled closely together for safety and warmth. The woods surrounded them in shadow and the only way they could see was with what little moonlight managed to make its way past the thick canopy of leaves overhead. On and on they walked, wands held tight in their grips, jumping at any and every noise. Suddenly, a low growl caught the two boys' attention and they turned tail and fled, running from the giant spider that had unexpectedly appeared before them.

Peeking over his shoulder as he ran, Harry bravely attempted to slow down the raging Acromantula, flinging random spells as they came to mind. Luck was on the Potter boy's side as yellow blasts of magic—don't ask him which spell it was—struck the monster between its many eyes. Letting out a pained screech it blindly stumbled to and fro as it attempted to regain its bearings, only to smack dab, head-first, into a tree and collapsed to the ground in a twitching heap. Letting out a whooping cheer, he ran faster to catch up with his red-headed friend, who was much further ahead.

"Ron!" he shouted, attempting to get the still frightened boy's attention.

"Run Harry! Run for your life!" replied Ron, vaulting over an uprooted tree and hastening his pace.

"Ron! Hold on!" Harry cried, still trying to catch up. Who knew Ron, who was known to eat not just seconds, but _thirds_ at meals, could be so athletic? Growing up with Dudley for a cousin, he'd often prided himself in being a speedy runner, but at the current moment, the youngest Weasley male was putting him to shame.

"Hold on? Hold _ON_? You're my best mate and all but I am _NOT_ being eaten by that thing!" Ron knew that he was being a coward, but he knew that in his heart and mind…_Harry had more than enough courage for the both of them_. And so, with that comforting thought in mind, he continued running through the forest with reckless abandon as the dark haired Gryffindor chased after him. Unfortunately for him, in his haste to get away, he stumbled over a rather oddly shaped log and tumbled to the floor, skidding on his knees as he landed haphazardly in an overgrown bush.

Turning over to see what had tripped him, his eyes grew wide in fear and he threw himself onto his back, pushing himself away with his hands and feet. As Harry sprinted the last few feet between them, he stared in horror, mouth agape and face as pale as a sheet.

"Ron? Ron, are you okay?" asked Harry worriedly, kneeling beside him as he placed a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. "Ron! Answer me!"

"It's…it's…." stuttered Ron. Unable to find his voice, he merely pointed a shaky finger at what had made him fall.

There before them sat an old, rotting tree stump, a worn and rusted axe embedded in its wood. It was neither the stump nor the axe that had them scared stiff, but what lay on the ground beside it.

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><p>"I don't see why you must be so difficult on the young Gryffindors, Professor," said Nearly Headless Nick as he floated in front of the Head Table. It was dinner time at Hogwarts and the Great Hall was abuzz with activity as students and teachers tucked into their meals, catching up with one another and unwinding after another strenuous school day.<p>

"And I don't see why you must continue to badger me with such irksome debate," sneered Snape, scowling as the ghost gave him an indignant look and crossed his arms. "I treat Gryffindors exactly how they are meant to be treated: like the mindless idiots they are."

"Now see here, Professor Snape!" argued Nick, floating closer. "Gryffindors are known for their courage and bravery, and while many tend to think with their hearts first, heads later…."

As the potions master and ghost continued their heated—in Nick's opinion anyway—discussion, Hermione Granger frowned as she looked around the hall for her two friends. She hadn't seen Harry or Ron since they'd ditched her in the library a few hours ago and was beginning to worry something might have happened to them. With students getting petrified left and right, she was afraid to walk down the corridors after dinner and find those two as the heir's latest victims. A loud, girlish squeal tore her from her thoughts as her head snapped in the direction of its origin.

There at the Head Table, Severus Snape quickly stood from his chair and backed away, arms held up as if in surrender. Before him, Nearly Headless Nick's—or should he now be called Headless Nick?—head rolled across the table in front of him before landing dead center on his plate. The students and faculty stared in silence, dumbfounded by what had just happened.

Nick stared up from his new position on the table and smiled at the stunned Slytherin, too happy to care how and why he was now headless. All that mattered was that he _was_ headless! "Hah! Take that _Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore!_"*

Back inside the forest, Harry laid down the freshly sharpened axe and admired his handiwork. Beside him stood a half-amused, half-sick Ron, who despite the grotesque corpse before him, couldn't help but grin in morbid satisfaction.

"Y'know, after all the times we've listened to Nick recount his execution, I don't think he ever once mentioned that it was inside the Forbidden Forest," said Ron, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes to hide them from the cold. "How do you reckon his body hasn't decomposed yet?"

Harry shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. "Magic? I don't know," he answered. Grinning, he continued, "But that makes forty-six whacks!"


End file.
